Gin Soaked Memories

Music glides and slides,
weaving its way through the room
Smoke darts to and fro,
twisting and turning between the tables

A solitary figure sits at the bar
Rolling his tumbler
He stares into the bottom of his glass,
looking for salvation

He throws his head back
and down the drink in one shot.
Liquid fire to warm his November soul
a taste mixed with memories

In his whiskey colored eyes,
the light of her impression,
a girl he loved once
His pixie, a fair, faint slip of a woman

Every moment recorded and
filed away in meticulous order
taken out and revisited in times
of gin, regret, and recollections

He recalls the days of Aphrodite and Dionysus,
the nights before
Hades and Tartarus-
a life lived freely once, in a time long ago

The days of morning glory,
fireside dinning, Parisian wine
Swaying to Charlie Parker on repeat.
Two souls lifted on the breeze of contentment

The nights of melting and meshing,
into silk sheets-teasing hands, guttural moans
Hard on soft. Passion so smoldering
even the windows cried out in a steamy release

The days of sultry tempting lips
that tasted of strawberries and unmitigated sin
a soft neck made for nibbles and kisses
an intoxicating fresh clean scent
The hint of vanilla and warm sugar on her skin

The nights of stolen moments,
faded hope, broken hearts
shuttered glances, hushed goodbyes
a love that fell out of time

As the bartender pours the man another drink,
the past blends into the now
Playing out like a moving picture book

He sees her behind the bar
Reflected in the neon,
dancing with shadows,
singing her reminiscence tune

She beckons, inviting him to come along
His foot taps along to her song.
Her rhythm fades.

Where did she run off to?

He reaches for his wallet and pays his tab
stumbling forward out the door

In his mind’s eye,
he glimpses her,
dashing ahead of him.
Her dress billowing in the wind

He rushes onward,
trying to catch her.
Chasing the sound of her laughter
His arms reach out to embrace her

Hands are left empty.
She’s only a ghost hidden among the leaves
Fragile and wild, shifting like the finest lace
disappearing into nothing, shattering the illusion

The man finds only lights flashing him blind
the blare of horns, people, and endless chatter

Briefly, he and the night stand still,
aching with a thousand remembrances
Mournfully, he shakes his head,
sighs, and wanders off into the night

Chasing ghosts. It’s the one’s that can’t be caught, that gets ya.
I could taste every numbing word, and easily picture the vision you’ve placed in the for front of my mind, futherest from my senses. To be eluded by an illusion, heard, felt, and seen so clearly, yet never to be touched. Again. 💙
I been into some late night/ early morning reading.
Thanks Tosha, you never let me down. 😊

Poet and word nerd. . Author of Confessions of a Reformed Southern Belle: A Poet's Collection of Love, Loss, and Renewal, and Self Help to Self Harm: The Dubious Guide to Life, Love, and Relationships. Podcast host at La Literati. Social Justice Advocate- Bridge to Freedom. Academia addict. Sempiternal dreamer. Habitual ponderer. Lover of history, free thinkers, and music with lots of brass.